Otousan
by Conna Stevenson
Summary: 2012. Short stories from the early years of an accidental father to four unusual sons.
1. Fifteen Years Ago 1

_Nana korobi, ya oki._

Fall down seven times, get up eight.

**1: Fifteen Years Ago**

_Yoshi-san, your face!_

_I'm all right, it's just a bruise. _

_It was him again, wasn't it._

_He came at me this time. I defended myself, that's all._

_A man like that has no honor, Yoshi-san. He's going to do something terrible someday. I know it._

_You worry too much, beloved. I can handle Oroku Saki._

_Let's leave this place. Go to America like you've wanted. _

_So soon after the baby? Tang Shen-_

_She's strong. So am I. Please, before he makes monsters of you both..._

Hamato Yoshi came out of sleep and hastily muffled a pained cry. It turned into a muffled sob that nonetheless echoed brokenly in the abandoned subway tunnel he had bedded down in. Eighth night in a row- memories bubbling up from happier times still too fresh to think about.

He sat up in the pile of rags that served as a bed and ran a clawed hand down his face- his _muzzle_- and strained entirely-too-keen ears upward. It was relatively quiet above, which meant it was still probably in the small hours before dawn, and Yoshi had to fight back a wave of utter exhaustion. He was constantly hungry these days, and now the nightmares robbed him of sleep.

At least he seemed to have found a place so deep and forgotten that Manhattan's population of vagrants and homeless no longer haplessly stumbled upon a man-sized rat monster in the dark. He could only imagine the sorts of stories now circulating in hushed I'm-Not-Crazy-But tones on the surface above.

A rustle drew him out of what promised to be another long pity-wallow. A plaintive chirp pulled him to his feet and over to the rusted doorless bulk of a refrigerator laying on its back to form an impromptu bassinet lined with layers of old newspaper for a nest. He knelt at its side and peered in, squinting in the underground gloom.

Another pair of eyes stared back at him. The eyes' little owner whimpered quietly, and Yoshi reached in and let the tiny creature cling to his hand; he knew by now that if he didn't calm the one, the other three would awaken and sleep would be completely out of the question, nightmares or no. All four were huddled together in one end of the fridge, with the wakeful one on its back on top of the pile.

Hmm, that was probably the source of the little one's discomfort. No turtle liked to be on its back. Yoshi carefully turned it over and settled it back down in the nest with its fellows. He tried to withdraw, hoping that now that he'd solved the problem, the turtle would go back to sleep and Yoshi could then attempt to do the same.

The turtle's grip on his hand, however, was strangely strong.

Yoshi bent closer.

The turtle had _hands_. Thumbs, even. Two stubby fingers and a sturdy opposable thumb to each hand, to be exact, doing their best to keep Yoshi from leaving. And those eyes, wide and curious, studying him with a directness he'd never seen any reptile display. A quick check of the other three revealed that they, too, had developed hands. Their limbs looked a little longer, at that.

Of course, in barely a month's time, they'd gone from the size of silver dollars to as big around in the shell as large dinner plates, so he really shouldn't have been that surprised. The same glowing, burning substance that had given him a pelt and a tail had also bathed his new pets. Who knew what it had done to them?

With an inexplicable tightness in his chest, Yoshi reached his free hand in and gently stroked the turtle's smooth, round head. Its eyes closed and it murmured contentedly, sleepily nuzzling a cheek against the hand it still held captive.

In moments the little one was asleep again. Yoshi reclaimed his hand and sat bewildered beside the fridge.

He'd considered leaving the turtles behind somewhere, back in those first few days of confusion and horror at his transformation. Trying to scrounge for food and look for hiding places while caring for four tiny reptiles seemed absurd even in his shock, but he hadn't been able to convince himself to abandon them. He'd always prided himself on taking his responsibilities seriously, but really- _he'd just turned into a giant rat-man abomination_, surely nobody could fault him for worrying more about himself than a bowlful of pet-shop green turtles.

Yet almost immediately after being doused with the glowing ooze, his pets had begun to act in ways that were distinctly un-turtle. They followed him with the desperate determination of puppies not wanting to be left behind by a mother dog. They whimpered and cheeped piteously if he were out of sight for longer than a moment.

In spite of the strangeness, or perhaps because of it, Yoshi gladly let his pets be a distraction. In the disastrous, bizarre turn his life had taken, he was painfully aware that he needed to keep hold of any reason to carry on, lest he fall into a potentially suicidal mood. For now, at least, that reason could be the care and mystery of his turtle charges.

He wondered what Tang Shen would have thought of it all.

Oh. Oh, that had been a mistake.

Yoshi's throat knotted up and he battered back the urge to scream uselessly into the empty tunnel. He'd only just begun to come to terms with their deaths- kind Tang Shen and Miwa, beautiful baby Miwa. He'd lost everything. His family, his home, his new life in America, even his humanity.

Yoshi stumbled back to his bed of rags and buried his face, clenching handfuls of shabby cloth so tightly his knuckles cracked and his claws bit through and into his palms.

Oroku Saki had a great deal to answer for.

Yoshi supposed vengeance was an acceptable reason to live too.


	2. Fifteen Years Ago 2

**2: ****Fifteen Years Ago**

Yoshi arrived 'home' (a dead-end and derelict subway maintenance station off a long-abandoned line) after a night of scavenging and abruptly decided he needed to reassess the status of his pets.

Two of them were _standing upright._

Furthermore, they had escaped their pen, a ramshackle but sturdy construction of old subway benches, folding chairs and many, many zip-ties. A third turtle was balanced precariously on its plastron halfway over the partition, escape in progress. The fourth peeked cautiously over, visible only as a green domed head and eyes and little stubby fingers.

The fourth turtle spotted Yoshi first and let out a happy-sounding cry, startling the third into tumbling off the knee-high pen wall and onto the floor, where it slowly spun like a wobbly top on its carapace. It then began to... giggle.

Meanwhile the first two escapees caught sight of their caretaker and began to totter unsteadily towards him. One dropped to all fours after two unsteady steps but the other managed it on two legs all the way to colliding with Yoshi's leg. It wrapped its arms around his furry shin and seemed to grin up at him as if it had accomplished something momentous.

Well, it certainly had.

They were no longer merely abnormally large turtle hatchlings, changed but simple beasts yet; they were more like toddlers.

...Teething toddlers. The crawling one had found his tail.

Yoshi shook himself, fur standing on end. Perhaps the isolation was starting to affect him, he thought, pulling his tail out of reach of the little one's budding teeth. He liked to think he had a strong mind, but three months with no company save animals? Something was going to crack, surely.

Little things he'd noticed recently but had chosen to ignore; what looked like emotional expressions on their little green faces, breif episodes of sitting up or attempts to climb things. A warmth to their bodies entirely unbefitting of reptiles. Despite all reason, he could swear his pets were becoming human.

_Despite all reason, Hamato Yoshi, _you_ are a giant _rat_._

It was hard to argue with the logic of his surreal existence.

Yoshi stooped to pick up the one clinging to his leg. He instinctively settled the turtle at his hip as naturally as any child. He opened the pen's gate to let the fourth turtle wobble out on two uncertain feet to greet him. The crawling one found its upended brother on the floor and proceeded to clamber on top. More high-pitched giggles filled the otherwise cheerless den.

It was the first sound Yoshi had heard them make that wasn't a simple chirp or murmur. It lit something within him, a feeling both warm and frightening. He knew that feeling. He'd felt it the first time he'd held-

The careful walls of stoicism and indifference he'd built up began to crumble. He had tried to envision himself a sakura petal on the surface of a lake: paying only mind to the immediate needs and surroundings but never venturing into the dark depths below. _This is ridiculous,_ the cynic in him railed. _You had hope and happiness before, and always it has been snatched away from you. _

And yet.

The turtle-child in his arms stared curiously at him, eyes alert and solemn. The light he saw there threatened to beat back the shadows in his heart.

Suddenly overcome, Yoshi sank to his knees. Immediately he was mobbed by the other three, until his lap was nothing more than a pile of green shells and blunt fingers and toes.

"My... sons," he found himself saying. "My sons." His voice, though rough with disuse, was relatively unchanged.

At once he had their undivided attention. With a start he realized he hadn't actually ever spoken around them. That would have to change.

"Did they send you, little ones?" There were tears gathering behind his eyes. "Did Tang Shen and Miwa send you to look after me?"

"mmmmmmBUHbuhbuh-!" chattered the one at the bottom of the turtle pile. Then blew a delighted raspberry. Another one _shrieked_, the sound of an infant happy beyond all measure. The serious one poked at Yoshi's muzzle as if trying to provoke more funny noises from him. And the sound of children- babbling, giggling, making new noises for the sheer thrill of novelty- banished the dismal silence.

Yoshi let them carry on in wonderment for a bit, wriggling and jostling while chattering both at him and each other, then gathered them up around him, two to each side. "Peace, my sons, peace," he coaxed, and one by one they settled down, again fascinated with this new speaking thing he was doing.

"_Nennen korori yo, okorori yo,_" he sang quietly. "_Boya wa yoi ko da, nenne shina..._"


End file.
